


The Hunter and the Angel

by insominia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Canon, Winchesters in Heaven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 11:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18281795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/pseuds/insominia
Summary: The monsters are still around, but so is the angel. And on the darkest of nights when your blood could freeze, when you hear a creak on the floorboard, see a shadow at the window, hear a whisper on the wind - that's when he comes, fulfilling a promise he made to the hunter.





	The Hunter and the Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LegendsofSnark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendsofSnark/gifts).



> I have adored writing this for LegendsofSnark, I hope I got the Angst you wanted! This is my first exchange and I have just been a ball of excitement for months :D
> 
> Thank you olivegray33 for the beta and assuring me I hadn't written an incomprehensible mess
> 
> LegendsofSnark, I really really really hope you enjoy <3

It was late, late enough to be considered early but despite the hour, it was loud. Within the dingy motel room, every ill-conceived sound echoed in its silence. The roll of passing traffic was to be expected, the shrill cacophony of women drunkenly plying their trade along the roadside was more unfortunate. The curtains, if they could be called that given how flimsy they were, did little to shield the room from the artificial glow of the street lamps beyond and the noise drifted through glass panes so insubstantial they might as well not have existed. The occupants of the motel room had met the state of the place with very different reactions. The older of the siblings, a boy, hadn't noticed any of it, accepting it as the best their father could do. He knew the opposite to be true, but had long since learned the punishment for such thoughts and so had fallen asleep regardless. For the younger child, the noise and the draught proved too much a distraction and she remained alert, trying to make herself impossibly comfortable on a mattress with so many dents and loose springs it was hardly fit for purpose. They were unaware of the third occupant and indeed he had given the room no consideration whatsoever, having settled into a corner after the children had retired. While the two children were there to try and gain some rest before their father whisked them elsewhere in the morning, the third person was hunting something not of this world. The children would not have believed him if he'd revealed himself, nor would they have understood how he could have so successfully hidden in plain sight. Had he told them he was an angel, they would have screamed for management (they were more reliable than their father).  
  
That he could introduce himself as an angel at all was a matter of some contention. It had been so long since Castiel had been to heaven, longer still since he had been welcomed as an equal there. His being remained tainted from his fall and what angels had survived the world would sooner die before recognising him as kin. Yet, angel he had been and so angel he remained, hidden in the corner of the room, obscured by the remnants of his grace and wings, waiting. He had not revealed himself less for the sake of the children in the room, but so he did not alert that which he hunted. It was coming tonight, he knew it and all there was to do was wait. He would strike when it entered the room, the children were in no danger, his quarry would be dispatched before it could breathe the same air as them. As though to affirm the point, Castiel gripped the blade in his hand tighter, blue eyes fixed on the door.  
  
"Are you awake?" the girl called out, quietly, into the room, and Castiel's eyes were drawn from the door to the shifting child. She could not have been more than eight years old, her brother not yet a teen, neither was old enough to have been left like this, but Castiel was here to hunt hellspawn, he had not come to intervene with an alcoholic father. There were some monsters he did not touch.  
  
There was an audible sigh as the brother woke instantly, as though he had been listening for such a disturbance all night, "go to sleep," he huffed.  
  
"I can't," the girl said, quietly.  
  
The silence stretched out between them before the older brother gave a groan of frustration, even as he pushed the blankets from him and clambered out of bed, slipping in beside his grateful sister.  
  
"Do you want a story?"  
  
Castiel could _hear_ the younger girl's grin, it lit the room, and she snuggled up to her brother saying, "yes please," she hesitated, "can I have the one about the hunter and the angel?"  
  
Her brother rolled his eyes, but Castiel could sense his smile and they both settled down together, the girl lying in her brother's arms and already infinitely more comfortable just for their closeness. Castiel returned his gaze to the door, lest his prey somehow slip in unnoticed while his eyes were elsewhere, but even though he did not look at them, he could not help but overhear the boy's words.  
  
"So," the boy said, dramatically, "the first thing you must know is that monsters are real." That in itself drew Castiel's attention and he had to fight his momentary instinct to reveal himself and demand how they could know such a thing. But it was a story, he chided himself, just a story, and how many of those began with such a notion?  
  
"All those things that hide under your bed, or in your closet. Things that lurk in the shadows, slip into the corner of your eye, rap at the walls in the night. Vampires and werewolves and rugarus and wendigos, all of them, all real."  
  
The girl gave a whimper of fright, the angel did not blame her.  
  
"But, we're safe. We're kept safe because of the hunters."  
  
In the corner, hidden in darkness and cloaked by feathers, Castiel smiled.  
  
"The hunters are the bravest people in the world. They travel around, hunting the monsters and making sure they can't hurt people like us. A long time ago lived the best hunter in the world and he worked harder than anyone to keep people safe. He killed so many monsters he became a legend, he could talk to dogs, transform into a squirrel and some say he travelled with the largest moose that ever lived."  
  
Castiel's smile had become a beaming grin and he rolled his eyes heavenwards.

‘ _Dean, I hope you can hear this.’_  
  
"But mostly he travelled with his brother and they drove around in a shiny, black car, the most beautiful ever seen with an engine that roared so loud all the monsters were afraid of it. Because he was a legend, all the monsters in the world wanted to kill him but when he died for the first time he died because he chose to not because they got him. He died to save his brother and he was taken to hell, but he didn't know that an angel had been watching over him all this time."  
  
That was probably technically true, Castiel reasoned. As the true vessels of Michael and Lucifer, there had probably been an angel in heaven whose entire existence was based around watching the Winchesters.  
  
"And when the hunter was taken to hell, that angel came down from heaven to save him."  
  
Again, probably technically true. After all, Castiel had been one of several tasked with retrieving Dean Winchester from hell. One of their number had probably been responsible for keeping tabs on him beforehand and any one of them could have been the one to reach Dean. Their orders had been clear, but that hadn't stopped them being clarified over and over. Dean Winchester had to be raised from hell, every one of them was expendable and they were not to stop for anything.  
  
Castiel could still remember the heat.  
  
It was dirty, cloying and corrupted everything. Every breath tasted of sulfur and brimstone, but the heat was the worst. It was constant, sticky and ferocious, there was no escape from it, not even for a moment. It choked everything, even the demons that launched themselves at the angels. Castiel wondered that they even knew what they were doing, if they even knew they were angels, or if they had been driven mad after so long in the pit that they would have lashed out at anything that passed by them. He had no vessel then but he could still taste the blood, breathe the sulfur and he watched as one after another his brothers fell. It had been so long since an angel had had cause to be hurt, even less since one had died, it was inconceivable anywhere except there, in that horrid place, in that relentless heat. But then Castiel's eyes had found him, had fallen on a soul burning brighter even than the hellfire around it and he had known that he would let the entirety of heaven fall into the pit to save it.  
  
What was it the angel, Hester, had said to Dean?  
  
' _When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost._ '  
  
If she had seen it she would have known. If she had seen that soul, lost in the depths of the worst tortures and burning brightly still, refusing to be broken despite its scars, she would have understood. Hester had been wrong, Castiel was lost before he ever laid a hand on Dean Winchester.

He had pulled Dean against him, choking on blood and dust and heat, one arm free to slash at the demons. They were unending, they were infinite and the heat was stifling. And then he was breathing air again, or at least, what passed for it in the veil. Not yet in the land of the living, but close enough, out of the heat at least. Castiel had all but collapsed from exhaustion but had cradled the soul beside him, even if he were to succumb here he would not have let go. His last memory before the darkness took him was his triumphant, if not broken cry into the void;  
  
_'Dean Winchester is saved._ '  
  
"The angel and the hunter became friends -"  
  
‘ _After he'd shot me full of rock salt, stabbed me in the chest, denied my existence and berated me extensively...’_  
  
"-even though the other angels didn't like it. The hunter was teaching the angel things angels weren’t supposed to know. And so the angels tried to separate them, but every time he was given the choice between them or the hunter he always chose the hunter. Together they fought monsters but they were always in trouble. Because they were the best of friends they were always trying to protect each other but they didn't know how to do it very well, so they ended up hurting each other instead. They went to heaven and hell and everywhere in between to fight monsters and save the world, but saving the world comes at a cost and usually, that cost was one of them. They never talked about the things they did though and it always led them into trouble. Then, one day, they promised that they would always tell each other the truth and they would do everything together, even if it was dangerous."  
  
Castiel remembered that day. He'd lied, or maybe it had been Dean, it might even have been Sam. He could no longer remember which of them was at fault. They'd seemed to be trapped in a cycle of betrayal, mistruths and outright lies, always dressed in the righteousness of self-sacrifice.  
  
_'I have to do this, Dean.'_  
  
'I'm doing this for you, Cas.'  
  
'I'm trying to protect you.'  
  
Which one of them had done it? What was it they had done? It was a testament to the amount of ridiculous _self-sacrificing bullshit_ as Dean would have called it that Castiel could no longer remember. What he did remember was standing in the door, staring out into the rain, almost holding his breath when Dean had called, " _wait_."

Castiel had turned and Dean had been beside him, close enough that he might have quipped about personal space, but his heart was too heavy. Both of them were exhausted from the effort of lying, there was always something to lie about. " _Can we_ -" Dean had tried, but the effort of speaking what was on his mind was somehow harder than living under the constant shadow of mistrust. " _Cas, can we...can we just stop this?_ " Castiel had frowned, waiting for Dean to continue but he had little else to say, just another sigh and a broken, " _I'm so sick of this man, can we just...not_?"  
  
And so they hadn't.  
  
There were no more lies, no more deals, no more going behind each other's back. It was like they could breathe for the first time and for once the world didn't seem to be ending every other day. It turned out they all worked much better with each other when they all knew what was going on. It was nice to just hunt monsters again and not have to worry about some God-like creature descending from high to smite them...except for those times they had to take on a God-like creature. There were plenty of those knocking around the place.  
  
Sam had once said that their weak spot was each other, and he hadn't been wrong, but that which they hunted found it harder to use against them when they were being open with each other. Strangely, unexpectedly, they found themselves safer than they had ever been.  
And being open with each other, being honest, well, for the first time Castiel and Dean acknowledged... _that_.  
  
“The longer the angel spent on earth the more human he became until one day he was given the choice to return to heaven or stay with the hunter. But this time, if he stayed with the hunter, he would never be able to return to heaven again. The hunter had taught the angel lots of things about earth. He’d learned about cheeseburgers and pie, he’d learned to drive, he’d gone on dates, he’d watched movies, read books but he’d also learned about important things like family and love. So when the time came to make the choice, the angel chose the hunter and after the angels had left, the hunter and the angel realised they were in love.”  
  
From the shadows, Castiel snorted, but the children did not hear. If only it had been that simple.

It had been a scene worthy of fairy tales, the kind that would live on in legend forever. A field, vast and empty save for the rustling of the surrounding trees in the wind and the lushness of the damp grass underfoot. All had been still, and then there were the angels, three of them standing on one side of the field, facing down the approaching angel and the two humans he insisted on meddling with.  
  
They had given every kind of argument. They argued for his duty, his kin, his rightful place. Then there came the more emotional, ‘ _you are needed’, ‘we need you’_. And of course, there were the threats. ‘ _This cannot go on Castiel. If you do not return with us now, you will never be permitted in heaven again. You will be separate from us forever._ ’

He had looked back then. Sam was looking at him with something akin to sympathy, with understanding. If he had left then and there Sam would have understood. Then his eyes found Dean’s. Considering the hunter thought himself useless at communicating feelings he managed to convey everything and more in that one look. The world might have paused in that moment, where they held each other’s gaze before Castiel smiled and turning his back on the angels he slipped into his rightful place beside Sam and Dean. The angels turned away, almost sadly, and Castiel might have felt sad too, but then Dean’s hand had found his, their eyes met and he knew he’d made the right choice.  
  
The choice he had made an age ago when his hand touched a righteous soul in hell.  
  
There were no declarations of love, not then at least, but something had shifted. Something unspeakable, intangible. They returned to the motel room, Sam crashed out and Castiel handed Dean a beer, their fingers brushing for a moment and that was enough. They both knew without it being said.

They had both always known.  
  
They were still holding hands two days later as they approached a diner, a last stop before they reached the bunker. Sam hadn’t mentioned it, but then neither had Dean or Castiel. Dean held the door open for them, his hand still clasped around Castiel’s but as the angel moved to enter the place, he realised Dean had paused, staring at the join of their palms, the way their fingers were entwined. Raising his gaze, Dean looked at Castiel with the softest of smiles, as though he were seeing something for the first time. With almost deliberate slowness, giving him every chance to steal his hand back, Dean raised Castiel’s grasp to his lips and kissed his hand as though they were players on a stage. Castiel had simply smiled back and lifted his other hand to trace Dean’s cheek, before Sam called to them, berating them for letting a draught in.  
  
“Together, they moved into a house in the countryside, surrounded by fields. They turned it into a safe haven for hunters everywhere and the angel planted flowers everywhere so it was always beautiful. The hunter didn’t have to hunt anymore, he could have left it to others, but he didn’t want to stop and the angel wouldn’t let him go alone. The hunter’s brother stayed behind because he thought they were gross.”  
  
It was the natural progression of their system as well as their relationship. Sam rarely went on hunts in those days, preferring to research from the bunker and pass the lore on over the phone. It suited his nature and, as the boy had said, he thought they were gross. Castiel and Dean didn’t care, they had wasted too much time already Dean insisted, they needed to catch up on it somehow. It was Dean who wanted them to find somewhere new, he never said it, not to Sam at any rate, but he whispered it into the darkness, his fingers trailing through Castiel’s hair.  
  
‘ _We should get a place, Cas. Not like this, a proper place. A house, a home. For us_.’  
  
It had been a farm once. It could have been a farm again if any of its new occupants had had the inclination. Castiel had never expected to find a home after heaven, not one that felt, _truly_ felt, like a home, like he belonged. But as he and Dean claimed the master bedroom, their first room together, the first room that was _theirs_ , he felt it then.

Dean had known, Dean always _knew_. They’d spent almost a day unpacking what they brought from the bunker, they had little in the way of personal effects after all but made up for it with the books they'd appropriated. Dean had thought ahead and their room, when Castiel came to it for that first night in the house, was a vision of homeliness. He had worked with the rooms white wood furnishings, complementing it with homely touches Castiel would never have imagined him doing. A cup of wildflowers in the corner, a patterned rug to hide the wardings on the floor and a quilt, decorated with pastel bees. It was far from the first time they had made love, but when Castiel remembered Dean, he remembered that night as the one that mattered most. The one where they truly gave themselves to each other.  
  
Dean’s kiss had been tender, almost too tender, as though Castiel were something too precious to behold let alone touch. His hand had cupped Castiel’s face, as softly as the presses of his lips telling him everything he couldn’t say with words. Dean always had struggled with words. But this, the soothing touches, the gentle kisses, they told Castiel everything he needed to know and confirmed everything he already thought. Civilisations had risen and fallen before they finally broke apart, in time to cross the room to the bed, where Dean gathered the angel into his arms and proved with his body, everything he had silently promised for so _so_ many years.  
  
They had moved together in perfect tandem, having found a rhythm that seemed as natural as the tides turning or the moon rising. They did not allow even the slightest of spaces between them, as though a hair's breadth would be too much to separate them. Castiel could still remember how they clung to each other, could still taste the tang of salt on his tongue from the sheen of sweat that crept over them. They chased their pleasure long into the night, soft gasps and tender sighs turned to unrestrained moans and arched cries. Hands which had stroked and caressed now gripped and dug into flesh, their cries becoming more desperate until they had finally come undone together, keening and shaking as the first light of dawn had streaked the sky.  
  
But such a thing would not have made it into a children’s tale.  
  
There was always something going on in the house. Hunters passed through frequently, Sam had a dozen or more phones lined up, his laptop never closed, always looking for cases. It suited him. It suited them all. Dean hadn’t wanted to take a step back so took the cases that they couldn’t get anyone to, Castiel always went with him, more so they wouldn’t be separated than to help on the job. When they weren’t working Dean found happiness making sure the house was safe, ensuring there was always a hot pie and fresh towels waiting for whatever hunter needed to crash there. And Castiel had the garden.  
  
It was almost domestic. It was bliss. They knew it couldn’t last long, nothing good ever did as far as they were concerned. But they were determined to enjoy it while it did.

Castiel closed his eyes. He knew what happened next in this story.  
  
“But even though all the monsters were scared of the hunter and the angel, hunting was still dangerous for them and one terrible day the hunter was killed.”  
  
The breath left Castiel slowly, shakily, however much he tried to control it. Eternity could pass and the memory of Dean’s death would still cut, like an angel blade searing through the very essence of what made Castiel Castiel. The pain never lessened, never, no matter how many said that it would. The pain never faded, but neither did the memory of how beautiful a day it had been and what a fitting end Dean Winchester had finally met.  
  
If he closed his eyes, Castiel was there. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, smell the heady mix of flowers and he could _see_ Dean’s tight-lipped scowl, especially as a volunteer moved to drape them in freshly bloomed garlands. They had arrived during a festival it seemed, Sam had failed to mention that when he’d given them the details.  
  
Children going missing, lots of them, often enough over the centuries that it pointed to something untoward occurring, not often enough to arouse the suspicion of the locals. A spriggan, Sam had said, and Castiel had thought the word had sounded too lyrical to describe a monster that stole children from their beds. They could kill it with fire, they knew where it lived, they even had a game plan to rescue the children they expected to find within the natural cave system near to the town. They had not expected to find a flower festival – ‘ _A Goddamn flower festival, Cas, are you kidding me?’_ \- right at the entrance to the creature’s lair. In hindsight, it made sense, the spriggan was a creature of nature after all, and the flowers that bloomed in the vicinity of the caves were certainly among the more beautiful Castiel had ever seen. Beautiful enough that he didn’t mind being draped in them, even as Dean glared at the flower-laden volunteers and tried to shoo them away.  
  
They found the children and the sight of Dean gathering them around him, lifting the smallest of them into his arms, resting her over his shoulder so as not to hurt her already injured leg, stirred something deep within Castiel and despite it all, he leaned over and kissed him. Dean had been puzzled, and a little irate, shrugging Castiel off in time to hear the snap of twigs nearby.  
  
“ _Go_ ,” Castiel had whispered, slipping past them, allowing Dean to herd the children out. The spriggan was burning by the time he heard the startled commotion from outside announcing that Dean had emerged, carrying several injured children right into the centre of the festivities. When the screaming started Castiel had started running. The sun was blinding, for a moment it threw him off balance, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw a second spriggan, trying to wrest the child from Dean. Castiel lurched forward and in almost no time at all the second creature was burning, as a frightened calm settled on the crowd and someone ran forward to take the girl. Dean’s eyes met Castiel’s and he smiled, so Castiel smiled back before his gaze dropped and the smile faltered, as Dean dropped to his knees, the front of his flannel starting to seep through with blood.  
  
“ _Dean_!”  
  
The crowd gave them space, someone was shouting for 911, an ambulance would come. They both knew it would be too late. He could still feel the warmth of the sun, smell the flowers around his neck, he could still see Dean, smiling up at him even as he struggled for breath. Castiel’s vision was blurred and he knew himself to be crying, he could hear himself screaming for Dean to hold on, though it sounded so very far away. But Dean didn’t stop smiling, lifting a heavy hand to cup Castiel’s face and with an inelegant swipe of his thumb, he wiped away the tears there.

“ _Cas_ ,” he spluttered, still he wouldn’t stop smiling. “ _Cas. You look like an angel_.”  
  
He breathed his last, still smiling. Having saved a child, Dean Winchester met his end in a grassy knoll, with the sun shining down on him, looking up at the love of his life draped in the first fresh flowers of spring.  
  
Castiel had taken him back to their home where he and Sam had given him the hunter’s funeral he was always destined for. Others might have stayed, but they all left to give them space. Sam had wrapped the body, Sam had lit the pyre, and it was Sam who had wanted to carry his brother to rest. But Castiel had done it, holding Dean as tightly to his chest as he had when he had raised him from perdition. This was ok, Sam had reasoned, later on, when he could speak of it. It was the natural order of things, the day they had always known was coming. Castiel hadn’t known anything less ok in all his eons of existence.  
  
When the fire had died down, Castiel had gathered up the ashes and scattered them around the garden, teeming with wildflowers and spring blossom. He still tended the garden, it still bloomed in an explosion of vitality that reminded the angel of Dean every time he saw it. When Sam had passed, his ashes had joined Dean’s and Castiel swore those flowers bloomed brighter than any other in the vast garden.  
  
“The hunter had died before, but this time was final and when the reaper took his hand like an old friend, he was shown to heaven. He had gone to the one place the angel would never be able to reach him and on earth the angel was distraught.”  
  
Despite it all, despite the lump in Castiel’s throat that rose every time he remembered Dean’s final breath in his arms, he smirked. Losing Dean was the wound that never healed, the pain that never faded, but he had never been distraught. On days when the separation tore at him, the days when he would give anything, _anything_ to see those green eyes again, he was reminded of who it was he loved. He imagined the angel who had to tell Dean Winchester that he would never see Castiel again, it always made him laugh. Nobody had ever _told_ Dean Winchester anything and even the monsters had had a healthy fear of he who had averted the apocalypse and everything else he had ever done. The angels should have known better. No, Castiel was never distraught. Because he knew one day, _somehow_ he and Dean would see each other again and may God take pity on the poor fools who came between them. Resting was never the Winchesters’ style. Even in heaven.  
  
“But even though he was lost without the hunter, the angel had promised that he would carry on helping people no matter what, that even without the hunter he would save as many as he could. The angel is still around and he still hunts monsters. Sometimes, when the people he saves ask him what he wants in return he says that when they die, tell the hunter about him, tell him what he did and tell him that he loves him, and they always do. The monsters are still around, but so is the angel, and they say that on really dark nights, when you’re too scared to breathe and you think you hear something under your bed or in your cupboard, when you see something in the corner of your eye or a flash in the mirror, that’s when you hear it – the roar of the hunter’s car, and you know the angel has been and you will sleep safely that night.”  
  
The boy turned his head down and smiled at his sister, sleeping soundly in his arms. He pulled her closer to him, and together they settled into what warmth they could steal from the bed. Within moments, the boy was asleep too. Castiel allowed his eyes to drift over the sleeping pair, as though to confirm they were safe before he returned his gaze to the door and continued his silent vigil.  
  
The first rays of dawn were beginning to lighten the sky before the angel moved again. The door cracked, just a touch at first, as though testing to see whether entry would be allowed. Then it had slowly opened, silently, the only sound coming from the fetid breath of the creature that pushed it. A single foot was all that made it into the room before the angel was upon it, his blade thrust sideways, through the creature’s neck, as Sam had discovered so many decades ago. The creature might have roared, but all that sounded was a hoarse cough, the blade in its throat obstructing any kind of sound it might have made.  
  
Behind Castiel, the boy stirred.  
  
At first, he did not know what had woken him. His sister was still beside him, sleeping softly and he had not known her to snore before. He glanced around the room, but there was nothing save the streaks of light, brightening the room as dawn rushed to meet them. Holding his breath, as though he had known on some level that something had happened, something had been very wrong just moments ago, he surveyed the room again, his eyes already protesting, his brain already coming up with reasonable excuses for the sound he swore he had heard.  
  
All was silent now.  
  
With a frown, the boy turned his face back to his sister and settled beside her, his ears straining for sound, even as sleep threatened to overcome him. But there was nothing, nothing except the distinctive roar of a Chevrolet Impala ‘67 gunning to life outside.  



End file.
